


phototropism

by peterandhispirate



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Churches & Cathedrals, Drinking to Cope, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:40:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18070955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterandhispirate/pseuds/peterandhispirate
Summary: Tyler reached for him like a flower reaches for the sun, the soft petals of his fingertips fluttering against the back of Josh's hand.





	phototropism

**Author's Note:**

> tw for the f slur
> 
> translation into Russian: https://ficbook.net/readfic/8011677

Josh liked to be alone. Not all the time, obviously, because the survival of mankind is hinged on socialization, but just enough so he qualified as shy.

Not antisocial. Just shy.

Shy enough to know that there's no place on Earth as quiet as a church on a Monday night. Deathly quiet. Some might argue _too_ quiet, but Josh would have to politely disagree with them.

He always sat in one of the middle pews - not too close to the crucifix, but not too far, either. Sitting in the very front made him feel weirdly intruded upon. Sitting in the very back made him feel disconnected, like he was attending a funeral he wasn't invited to.

The middle was perfect.

Unfortunately for Josh, someone else was a fan of his "not too close, not too far" technique; for the first time in his life he pushed past the mahogany doors and found a stranger occupying the best seat in the house, boots propped up on the pew in front of him.

Josh stopped dead, already panicking, but he didn't turn to leave. It was a big church - plenty of rows. He could share.

And yet the further he wandered down the central aisle, the closer he got to the one thing he was trying to avoid. Even shy people get curious, and Josh had never seen anyone sit in a pew like that. _Ever_. It was certainly disrespectful, but this dude definitely didn't care. He was so indifferent, in fact, that he didn't stir once when Josh's footsteps were bouncing off the parade of stained glass windows. He only looked up when Josh got close enough to see the tears - not running down his face but simmering in his eyes like tea in coffee-colored kettles.

It was with those tears in mind that Josh cleared his throat and asked, "Hey, man, are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?" said the stranger, and his voice was hoarse. "We’re in church. Who doesn’t love church?”

Josh blinked. "Lots of people, actually.”

“Yeah?" He sniffed, crossing his arms. "What about you, tough guy? Do you love the good Lord? Or are you just a poser like the rest of us?”

“A little bit of both, I guess," Josh admitted, shrugging limp shoulders.

“An honest poser?”

“Something like that." Not one to talk about himself, Josh gestured to the half-empty bottle sitting beside him. "What’s with the wine?”

That’s when he laughed, bottom teeth delightfully crooked, and Josh could smell the grapes. “Don’t worry, it’s not the blood of Christ or whatever. I stole it from my parents’ kitchen.”

“May I ask why?”

“Sure,” said the stranger, crossing his arms a little tighter. “I was pissed off and wanted to get super duper drunk.”

“I think you’re succeeding at the drunk part,” Josh mumbled, finally gathering the courage to take a seat beside him, legs crossed and forehead creased.

Wine Boy snorted. “Well, at least I’m doing something right.”

“So what pissed you off?”

“My parents invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner after four years of pretending I never existed.” Smile fraying at the edges, he elbowed Josh like it was one big joke. “Better a nonexistent son than a gay one, am I right?”

“I’m guessing it didn’t go too well,” Josh said, voice soft with sympathy, and Wine Boy laughed.

“Oh, it was a _riot_. The minute I sat down my younger brother asked how many dicks I suck per week.”

Josh shifted uncomfortably, re-crossing his legs. “What, uh. What did you tell him?”

“I said ‘six, if I’m lucky’ and my dad lost his fucking mind.” He ran a hand through his hair, each finger shaking worse than the last. “I’ve never seen him get that mad - not even when I first told him.”

“Did they kick you out?” Josh asked, scooting a little closer, despite the aftermath being obvious.

“Oh yeah. I was only there five minutes and they already wanted me gone. And hey, they got their wish! Because now I’m here. With you. What’s your name again?”

Josh cracked a smile for the first time that night. “I never told you, but it’s Josh.”

“Hey Josh. Me llamo Tyler,” he said, offering a hand, and Josh shook it.

“Hi, Tyler.”

“Hi, Josh,” Tyler repeated himself, because he was drunk and liked the way it sounded. Josh didn’t mind. He was patient that way. Patient enough to change the subject for Tyler’s sake.

“Were you raised religious?"

Lifting the half-empty bottle to his mouth, Tyler took a giant swig and mumbled through the wine: "Used t’sing ‘n the church choir.”

“So you’re a singer,” Josh said, seeming impressed. Nestling the bottle between his thighs, Tyler could only chuckle.

“According to my parents I’m a loser, a narcissist, and a faggot. Emphasis on the faggot.”

“You should add singer to the list.”

“Why? I haven’t sung in, like, six years. These pipes aren’t what they used to be." Leaning close to his ear, Tyler whispered, "I smoke a lot of weed.”

Josh bit his lip to derail an oncoming laugh. "Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s kinda a shame. I’m sure our church would love to have you in the choir.”

Tyler raised both eyebrows. "Sorry, did you miss the part where I’m a loser faggot who smokes pot?”

“I heard you loud and clear," Josh assured him, and Tyler heaved one of those brick-heavy sighs.

“Yeah, well, I’m not really a church guy anymore.”

The look Josh gave him was curious; judgment-free. He asked, "Why not?”

Tyler glanced up at the crucifix, muttering, "How am I supposed to find comfort in something nobody wants me to have?”

“If you wanna let God in, just go for it," Josh said, as if anything was that simple. But maybe it could be. "No one can really stop you.”

Tyler sucked in a breath and let it go. "Sounds scary.”

“It is scary.”

A pause. And then, "Can I hold your hand?”

“Sure.”

Tyler reached for him like a flower reaches for the sun, the soft petals of his fingertips fluttering against the back of Josh's hand. He squeezed like he was checking for a pulse, and, smiling, Josh squeezed back - their own special morse code.

No one could really stop them.

"Do you need somewhere to stay tonight?" Josh asked once the message had been received, still holding onto him oh-so tight.

Tyler kissed his knuckles and said, "Always."


End file.
